Terminal
by WafflePop
Summary: Had a been too late? A strange encounter at an airport. A short fanfic dedicated to Naomi Misora. RIP Misora.


Things aren't always what they seem at first glance.

Disclaimer: Death Note does not belong to me.

* * *

Mother always said that I should talk to people more, that otherwise I would never realize how much they had meant to me until it was too late.

"Hello."

She did not respond. She simply acted like she didn't hear a thing. The nerve. I sighed in exasperation, but I would be a hypocrite if I didn't admit that I disliked small talk myself. Oh well, it had been worth a shot.

I took off those restrictive, leather gloves and stuffed them into my new, matching leather purse then checked for the twentieth time that I had all of my travel documents. That done, I checked that I was seated at the right gate for the twenty-_first_ time. Ugh, I never did enjoy waiting for the plane. It was so ridiculously boring and awkward. I envied those who could fall asleep in the less than comfortable airport chairs and have time warped to their will while I could only twiddle my thumbs in such a state of tedium, body literally aching from immobility.

And it didn't help that the only person seated next to me was less than hospitable. Perhaps I should move.

Before I could consider that alternative, my phone went off. Oh, it was _him_ again.

"You've got some nerve calling me now." I rolled my eyes.

There was a sigh on the other end.

"I'm sorry, honey. You know why I had to come here first."

"Yes, yes I know." It was still irritating though, always doing things his way.

"I miss you a lot, and I can't wait to see you again. Anyway dear, I just want to check up on you. Everything is going alright?"

I gave an irritated sigh, but secretly I was glad he cared, even though sometimes he cared a little too much. "Stop worrying already. I'll be fine. It must be really late where you are right now. You should stop stressing and just go to sleep. I'll be joining you soon. Love you." Click.

For a split-second, I was almost certain I saw something flicker to my left. So that lady had been awake after all. I guess I finally hit upon a topic of interest to her.

Well, mother always said that I should talk to people more. I turned and gave her my best fake smile.

"Men. What can you do?"

She said nothing but gave a single nod. Oh, looked like I was making progress. A new, triumphant smile replaced the old, unconvincing one.

"You've got someone yourself, Miss?"

"No."

Shoot. Wrong words. Good going, you fool. Now what was I going to say?

"But you've had someone in the past right? I would be very surprised otherwise. You're a very lovely woman." Ouch, that cheesy, fake sincerity was really starting to leave a acerbic aftertaste.

The woman looked at me for the first time, an expressionless, hallow gaze that sent chills through ever fiber of my body. I immediately regretted ever taking my mother's advice.

"I did."

"Oh, um, so it didn't work out?" Doh, stupid. "Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I'm uh ..." Just quit while you're behind already.

"It didn't." She turned back, and like a living corpse zoned off into space, unblinking, unbreathing.

"Hey, uh, Miss. I noticed you don't have any luggage." All she had on her was a purse. What was this woman thinking, flying out of the country with only a purse?

The woman nodded. "Yes."

Well that wasn't very helpful. But before I could say anything more, the speakers came on, announcing that the first set of people were ready to board. With that, the woman got up and walked away.

Could it really be called walking?

Disheveled, dark hair draped over her shoulders, obscured by faded leather, body slumped over, like a funeral piece fit for mourning, like a sacrifice waiting to be immolated, like a body without a soul, without a single strand of hope left in the world to wake her back up from some living nightmare. She paced systematically, robotic movements, but her black boots made no sound as they contacted with the ground, as if she was trying not to be heard, not to be seen, not to _be_.

To become invisible, to disappear from this world altogether. And so she did.

A final chill. Who was that woman?

Mother always said that we should talk to people more, that otherwise we would never realize how much they had meant to us until it was too late.

Had it been too late?


End file.
